


never be right

by theaugust



Series: made of mountains [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-19 12:41:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5967751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theaugust/pseuds/theaugust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>just some old nonsense that is more emotional smut than actual smut.  Orestes is a Khajiit and a very reluctant dragonborn.  and if you don't know who Ghorbash is, then i don't know why you're reading this.  three scenes about their relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. all or nothing

Fur, tawny and spotted like some extinct predator, rippled over taut muscles as the Khajiit arched back while undulating hips brought him closer to Ghorbash. The flare of his nostrils and precise dilation of his eyes were the Orsimer’s only response to his companion’s display. Grabbing at Ghorbash's breastplate, Orestes tugged.

Ghorbash grit his teeth. "What are we doing here?" he grumbled.

Orestes grinned, his long canines flashing in the torch light. He threaded soft-padded tapers of fingers between the Ghorbash’s rough, stubby fingers. Glancing down, he started to jerk away, but the Khajiit squeezed the Orsimer’s hand tight. Claws pressed into the back of his hand. He frowned at Orestes as he dragged Ghorbash toward the door. He felt the eyes of every Nord in the tavern. The Khajiit stopped suddenly and turned back to press up against Ghorbash. Arms snaked around his neck as he stepped back.

"What—?"

Orestes giggled. "They have no idea—"

"Be quiet. Everyone is watching you now."

"Mmm—would you fuck me?"

Ghorbash frowned down at the Khajiit. His eyes were but a ring of blue around flashing pupils. Ghorbash had seen cats with that look before they pounced. The comparison was crude. Orestes was no cat. Ghorbash had left his tribe behind for a man named Orestes, but this was not him. The Orsimer shook his head.

The Khajiit began to recoil, but Ghorbash caught him, one hand grabbing at the back of his neck and the other at his hip. Pulling Orestes close, Ghorbash rested his forehead against his. "Not here—not like this."

Hands shoved Ghorbash away. Orestes glared up at him. Ghorbash counted the beats. One—Orestes turned away. Two—he threw open the door. Three—he slammed it behind him. Cursing, Ghorbash waited after three beats before running after Orestes. He went straight for the stable, and Ghorbash followed behind. When the Khajiit reached for his saddle, the Orsimer grabbed for his wrists. Orestes twisted away and turned his back to Ghorbash.

"What do you intend here?"

"I intend to kill a Stormcloak messenger," Orestes snapped. "And any others I find."

Ghorbash shook his head. "Then stay. I'll ride back to Whiterun. Shall I tell Lucia and Blaise anything for you?"

"I'll tell them myself." Stepping back, Orestes folded his arms across his chest. "Leave, if that's what you want."

"You could come with me."

"Rather drink too much then use the room I paid for."

He didn't look at Ghorbash, even as he led his horse from the stable. Orestes did not move. Ghorbash pulled himself up into the saddle. Squeezing his legs against its sides, he rode from the inn. He cursed himself every step of the way back to Whiterun.


	2. sweet talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> now all the additional character tags will make sense.

The guards opened the city gate for him without a word. Adrianna Avenicci stood at her forge, and though she stared, she did not greet Ghorbash. None which passed him did either. It was only as he reached Breezehome's front door that a young voice shouted, "You're back, Ghorbash—Ghorbash." Lucia came running up as Ghorbash turned. He knelt down, and she hugged at his neck. "Where is Papa? I got him a present."

As she stepped back, Ghorbash sighed, "Working."

"When will he be back?"

"I don't know."

Tears welled in her brown eyes, but she blinked them away. Sniffling, she mumbled, "I miss him."

"As do I." He glanced past her, up the street. "Where is Blaise?"

"I haven't seen him. Lydia said Lars came by, and they left without me. I've been sitting under the Greener Tree like I used to."

He chuckled. "The Gildergreen."

"Yea, that." She grinned, rubbing at her eye with a tight fist. "Should I go find him?"

"Yes, please. I'll cook dinner for us."

She squeezed at his neck again then went racing up the street. Ghorbash watched her go. She'd be back. She'd be fine. With or without Orestes—or Ghorbash, for that matter. Lucia had walked leagues, from the farm where she was born, after her mother died and her aunt cast her out. When Lucia came to Whiterun, only the beggar Brenuin had any kindness for her, so she survived as best she could from begging and doing odd jobs at the tavern. She deserved better, so Orestes had taken her in and done his best to provide a home. How Orestes could jeopardize her fate troubled Ghorbash.

He tried to leave the thought behind as he entered Breezehome. Lydia sat by the hearth, with a cast iron poker in one hand. She jabbed into the embers and glanced up at Ghorbash. Her gaze skipped past him then back. She frowned.

"He's not with you?"

Ghorbash sighed. The housecarl was always in her armor, always with a sword nearby, always waiting.

"Where is he? When will he—?"

"He's on orders from the Legion. I can't say any more. I don't know."

She nodded. "Then you'll be staying?"

"Is that a problem?"

"Not at all. We've room." She grinned. "Perhaps we could give it a go against those fools in Jorrvaskr. If you heard the things that Vilkas—"

"Fortunate for him I haven't. I've no patience for them. If you want, we can spar or brawl."

"That a challenge?"

"You'll whip me, but yes."

Shaking her head, she eased back into her seat. "You talk like that, you've already lost."

"Maybe I have," Ghorbash grumbled.

She poked at the charred bits of wood. He threw fresh logs into the hearth, and she set to getting a fire going again. Ghorbash busied himself with preparing ingredients. She sat by the hearth. He peeled and chopped carrots then potatoes. As he started on the cabbage, Blaise then Lucia came howling and giggling into Breezehome. Blaise ran up to jump on the bench beside Ghorbash. He grinned at the red-faced boy.

"Did you fight any dragons?"

Ghorbash shook his head. "Not this time."

"Did you bring me anything?"

"Not this time."

"Papa brought me a toy." Blaise rushed into his room then returned with a small wooden carving. It had bits of leather tacked on for its ears and tail. "It's a dog. I named him Knut."

Ghorbash stared at the boy. "When did your father give you this?"

"Early this morning. I woke up when he—"

"Where is he?"

"Upstairs?" Blaise stepped back, and Ghorbash caught the boy by the arm before he toppled off the bench.

"Careful," Ghorbash sighed.

Lucia rushed up the steps. Ghorbash followed behind the slap of her bare feet. As she knocked on the door to Orestes' room, she glanced back at Ghorbash.

"If Papa is sleeping, should we—"

"Papa is awake," came a muffled voice beyond the door. "Come in."

She pushed open the door. Through it, Ghorbash watched her throw herself into Orestes' open arms. The two whispered to each other. They hugged until Lucia squirmed free. Taking Orestes' hand, she led him out.

"We're all going to eat together," she said, "like a family."

The words twisted into Ghorbash, and he glared at Orestes. "I need to talk to you."

"Go on, Lucia." Orestes smiled and mussed her hair. "We'll be down soon."

Wrinkling her nose up at him, she smoothed her hair. She looked up at them, first the Khajiit then the Orsimer and back again. Ghorbash watched her go.

"Did you bring her a gift? Blaise was—"

Orestes laughed. "Showing off again? Ah, yes, of course. Two new dresses, a doll, and a dagger. I'll give her the doll when we go down."

"First you must tell me if you—"

"I didn't do it. The orders—I was—" Orestes hissed obscenities then snapped, "You don't get to pick and choose parts of me to like. It's all of me or none of me. You don't want that, then I can take you back to Dushnikh Yal." He shrugged. "Or you can leave now."

The Khajiit spoke with such startling finality. It made the Orsimer feel small, though he was twice the size of the Khajiit. Ghorbash was not small. So, he shook his head and grumbled, "I gave you my word. Abandoned the place which my brother had made for me." His pulse thundered under the low rumble of his voice. The words wrapped around his chest and squeezed at him until his bones ached. His pale eyes stared down at the soft, grey fur covering Orestes' stomach, exposed by the loose tie of his tunic, but his blue eyes were intent on Ghorbash's face.

"Your lip is twitching." Orestes reached up.

Ghorbash grabbed his hand. "I won't perform for others." Orestes frowned, and Ghorbash pulled Orestes closer and placed his hand on Ghorbash's neck. "This is for you."

The soft pags of Orestes' fingers slipped over Ghorbash's skin. Orestes pressed his thumb just beneath Ghorbash's jaw. His pulse thundered, and his jaw clenched. His hands, hesitant, hovered Orestes' back.

"Why didn't you do it?" Ghorbash asked.

Orestes leaned against Ghorbash. Into his chest, Orestes mumbled, "I was ashamed. I couldn't—I can't—" He shook his head. "I'm so angry. I try not to—to let it go, but I—I apologize."

"We can talk about this after dinner. I'll help you wash up."

Orestes grinned. "Is that a polite way of saying I stink?"

"More an attempt to get you to return the favor."

The Khajiit's pupils dilated, and Ghorbash brushed past Orestes. He followed down to sit with Lydia by the hearth. She prodded him with question after question, and he mumbled his replies. Lucia crawled into his lap, but after he whispered to her, she darted back up the stairs. Her excited shrieks made everyone grin. She came racing back to hug Orestes. He held her in his lap as she began fabricating her doll's history. Her name was Celia, and she was the daughter of an Imperial soldier. She wanted to fight like her father, but he said she wasn't old enough yet.

Ghorbash gave Orestes a pointed glare. He shrugged, ruffling Lucia's hair. Oblivious to them, she sang to her doll and braided its hair.

After dinner, Orestes settled the children into bed. Lydia left, saying she'd be back in the morning. Ghorbash had just finished cleaning up when Orestes emerged from the children's room. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he glanced up at Ghorbash.

"You wanted to talk?"

He sighed. "I don't know what you're thinking. It's not your war. You owe them nothing."

"I can't sit idly by while—"

"Heard it all before. None of it changes the fact that you have a family. What will happen to them? You expect Lydia to be able to keep them safe when the Stormcloaks come after you?"

Orestes frowned. "Maybe we should move."

"Maybe." Ghorbash shook his head. "I'll warm some water for you."

Taking the biggest pot, he lugged it out and up to the well. He felt the weight of the guards' stares every step. Once it was filled, he rushed back inside. He set the pot on the hearth. Orestes sat to one side and packed his pipe. Sitting beside him, Ghorbash watched Orestes. He puffed at his pipe and stared at the flames licking up the sides of the pot. Their light danced in his bright blue eyes.

"Would—would you fuck me?" Ghorbash asked.

Those bright blue eyes blinked at him, and their pupils dilated as they raked over him. "Pardon?" Orestes grinned.

"You heard me."

"And you know I would."

Ghorbash went up to the bedroom, and Orestes was close behind. He stared, eyes glowing in the low light, as Ghorbash's thick fingers fumbled with the tie on his tunic. Orestes stepped closer. Ghorbash stepped back, but he reached for Orestes. He squeezed at Ghorbash's hands then stripped him down with a swift deftness. When he twisted to grab Orestes then drop him on the bed, the Khajiit only chuckled and teased his claws up the Orsimer's stomached. He tensed. Rolling onto the bed, he pulled Orestes around then on top.

He began to say, "If you'd rather—"

"I told you what I want."

Ghorbash hooked a hand behind Orestes's neck. He tensed under Ghorbash's hand then descended upon him. His breath came in hard pants between muffled moans. His head buzzed with a tingling lightness that crept down through his body even as Orestes set Ghorbash's whole being to burning. When those delicate canines pressed into his exposed neck, he was overcome. The tension in him snapped and shattered the lightness as strings of white spilled out across his stomach. The whole of everything, the entirety of his present moment crashed down on him as Orestes came in his ass. Orestes—his blood-kin, this Khajiit who the Nords called Dovahkiin, this man bent on saving all he could and killing all who threatened peace and prosperity, this thief in the night, this poisoned dagger between the ribs and a hand over the mouth—Orestes came in his ass. Orestes nuzzled at Ghorbash's cheek, and he tensed. Orestes eased out. He left an ache, like an emptiness, and Ghorbash was sure then this was a mistake, with no way out. He'd always give in to Orestes, but Ghorbash couldn't. The strongholds remained neutral. They had no love for Stormcloaks nor the Legion which took away its young warriors. If he involved himself, if blame fell to Dushnikh Yal or another hold—no, that couldn't happen.

"What troubles you?" Orestes asked.

Ghorbash shook his head. "You've made a mess of me."

Orestes rushed to pull on a robe then out of the room. Only the creak of the boards betrayed his movements. He brought up the pot and filled the copper-lined tub in the corner. When he brought a damp rag over, Ghorbash frowned. He stared as Orestes cleaned his stomach. The cloth dipped lower, and Ghorbash grabbed Orestes' wrist.

"I can do it."

Orestes shrank back. "I apologize if—"

"It's fine."

Nodding, the Khajiit went back to the tub. His fur ripppled up his back as he stepped in. Sighing, he crouched down to sit back against the tub with legs folded up against his chest. When Ghorbash was certain his legs weren't going to give out, he stood then crossed to the Khajiit. The Orsimer saw they might both fit in the tub. This was a mistake. The Khajiit reached to squeeze at the Orsimer's hand. With no way out. Ghorbash climbed in, and Orestes shifted to accomdate him. They washed each other. Orestes was tender, his padded fingers light as he caressed bruises and cuts he'd just left on Ghorbash. He was quiet, even as Orestes whispered to him. Ghorbash tried to cling to Orestes' words, but they all faded away beneath that crushing truth. Orestes was good at this. He always gave Ghorbash such sweet talk. He wanted to believe it, but that truth could not be denied.

"Orestes," he said, "this can't last."

The smile on Orestes' face faded, and he sat back. "What are you saying?"

"Find another place for the children. I must return to my tribe."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I will be leaving for Dushnikh Yal tomorrow."

Orestes' expression flickered. He turned away. "Very well." He repeated the words to himself. Nodding, he climbed out of the tub. He dried then dressed. "You always have a place here." He threaded the laces of his boots and tied them tight. "If you ever need anything?" Orestes looked up at Ghorbash, but he shook his head. "Regardless, I am yours."

Orestes left.

Ghorbash had been so sure that Orestes would return, but after the Orsimer had dried and dressed, the Khajiit did not return. Ghorbash stepped out to glare up and down the darkened street. He sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "show, don't tell," they say. "eehhh," say i.


	3. run for cover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> gaayyy.

Soft warmth nuzzled and tickled at Ghorbash's neck. He blinked, his pale eyes adjusting to the soft grey light of early dawn filtering through the gaps in the roof. Teeth, the worn points of long canines pressed into his neck, and he grabbed for Orestes. He jerked back. Ghorbash lunged, throwing his thick arms around Orestes to catch him in a tight embrace. He went limp, and Ghorbash pulled Orestes into bed. Curled up on the Orsimer's chest, the Khajiit brushed fingers down Ghorbash's side. Orestes reeked of wine. He sat up. Taking Ghorbash's hand, Orestes squeezed in both of his.

"Please, stay with me. We don't... I'll never touch you again, but please, don't—"

"My tribe needs me."

Ghorbash tried to jerk his hand away, but Orestes only leaned down to nuzzle at Ghorbash's neck. "I need you."

He grabbed at Orestes' shoulders. Forcing him back, Ghorbash asked, "Will you die without me?"

"No."

"So many of our young warriors leave to travel the world and never return. There are so few of us left, and with every generation, it grows worse." Ghorbash shook his head. "I don't expect you to understand, but these things are central to my being." He sighed. "It's all of me or none of me."

"I could change. I could stop—" He faltered then mumbled, "Trying to cause so much hurt. I could be better."

"Then why would you need me?"

Orestes hesitated, his whiskers twitching and fur rippling. "I never said I'd stop my work."

"Then there is nothing to discuss."

Orestes started to cry, shaking as he swallowed sobs. The Orsimer had not even known that Khajiit could cry. Ghorbash stared at Orestes as heavy tears wet the fur of his cheeks.

"You won't stay. No matter what I do—no matter what I say."

"I'm here now."

"Gone with the dawn," Orestes snapped.

Ghorbash sighed. Orestes slapped Ghorbash across the cheek. Sitting up, he frowned at Orestes. He lifted his hand, but Ghorbash grabbed Orestes's slender wrist. He shoved at Ghorbash, and he fell back against the bed.

"Without you, it means nothing," Orestes hissed. "Without you—you can't..." His voice cracked, and he strained to say, "I love you."

Squeezing at his wrists, Ghorbash said, "I can't stay with you." He released Orestes' wrists as he crumbled. Grabbing him up in thick arms, Ghorbash whispered against his fur, "I wish..."

Thin arms wrapped around him. Claws dug into his shoulders and held on. "Tell me—tell me everything. Crack open your ribs." Orestes purred, his breath and whiskers tickling at Ghorbash's neck. "Show me your heart."

Ghorbash tensed, his arms squezzing at Orestes hard enough to make him yelp. Releasing him, Ghorbash rubbed at Orestes' back. Neither spoke. Ghorbash's pulse was like thunder in his ears. Inside his chest was a hammering, and his mind turned to the fire which once burned across Orsinium.

"Will you come with me tomorrow?" he asked. "And eat at my brother's table?"

Orestes nodded. "If I can know what that means?"

"It means..." Ghorbash's hand brushed against the grain of Orestes' fur. Rough fingers ran up his arm, over his shoulder, to grab at his throat. Ghorbash held Orestes and pressed fingers under his jaw to feel a thundering pulse. "You should do what you must. You should not stay away too long. You should not forget these words: I love you."

Orestes smiled. His eyes burned with his joy, and Ghorbash's heart melted. They kissed, all tongues and teeth.

"Would you fuck me?" Orestes whispered.

"Will you do as I said?"

The Khajiit purred, "Do I have to?"

The Orsimer nodded.

"Then, yes."


End file.
